Metal Gear Solid: A Bastardized Novelization
by Nighthawk the Great
Summary: A humorous novelization of the game. It's funnier than Tom Cruise getting sprayed in the face with a gag mike on live TV, if there's anything funnier than that. If you actually choose to read it, the first chapter sucks, skip right the second one.
1. The Briefing

**Metal Gear Solid: A Bastardized Novelization**

**By Solid Steel Plectrum**

Chapter 0: THE BRIEFING

**Time: 7:06 A.M.**

**Location: Off the coast of Alaska**

**Subject: Briefing**

"It's been a long time, Snake."

Snake looked up. Freezing and shirtless, sitting on a rock-hard bed in a surgically clean medical room, he wasn't exactly the picture of comfort. He looked tired and haggard. There were dark bags under his eyes. His head was pounding from the result of a failed keg stand at the local bar last night. God damn, those Alaskan bars had some hard floors.

Snake looked up, gritting his teeth in a very pained smile.

"Not long enough, Colonel."

Colonel Roy Campbell grinned, his lined, wrinkled face contorting like an imploding prune. "That's no way to greet an old war buddy, Snake."

Snake sighed loudly and held his head in his hands. Why in God's name was he here?

"Colonel, let's get this over with. What the hell do you want from me? And I'm flat broke, so if you're looking for a couple extra bucks to spend on a new Rascal, you've kidnapped the wrong guy."

The Colonel grinned once again. He enjoyed Snake's acidic comments, even if they directly insulted his age. He had a weird sense of humor.

"Now, Snake, I didn't kidnap you! We old wardogs like to call it 'armed guards forcing entry into your home and shoving nightsticks up your ass.' It's a military term."

Snake rolled his eyes and sighed again. It seemed hard to believe, but the Colonel had been this stupid as long as Snake had known him.

"Colonel, I was tossed out of my bed, beaten in the face with a billy club, Maced, stripped of all clothing, tied up, tossed in the back of a pickup truck, and then Maced AGAIN. I was then driven over 20 miles of bumpy Alaskan terrain, keep in mind I am stark naked now, untied, hit in the face with a billy club that had Mace ON IT, and finally was brought here. The only reason I have these shorts on is because a blind man sitting outside the door sold them to me for a nickel. Colonel, if that's not kidnapping, I don't know what is."

Campbell yawned and looked at his watch. How boring. Snake was always thinking about himself.

"That's a charming story, but we need to get the road on the show here. We're under a deadline."

Snake sighed again. Campbell's selfless mutilation of age-old sayings irritated him to no end. Road on the show? Was this man on drugs?

"Now, Snake, I would like to introduce you to someone. This is Dr. Naomi Hunter. She's chief of FOXHOUND's medical staff and an expert on gene therapy. You'll pretty much be her bitch for the next 24 hours."

Snake was about to say something in retaliation, but then his eyes fell on Dr. Naomi Hunter. He immediately shut up. She was attractive, slender, and looked like she could pistol-whip a senior citizen without blinking an eye. But maybe that was because her eyes never seemed to blink. The small, dark beads were cold, staring, and demanded attention. Snake would give them plenty of attention, all right. Stale, overused pick-up line type of attention.

"So Dr. Hunter, do you come here ofTOWPAJAMABANANAPHONES!"

Naomi withdrew a long, shining needle from Snake's arm. Smiling a satisfacted smile, she began rubbing alcohol on the area she delivered the shot.

"What's wrong, Snake? Don't like shots?" Her voice was soft, clear, and articulate.

Snake shook his head, mouth tightly closed and tears welling up in his eyes.

Colonel Campbell was still grinning that stupid-ass grin. He was probably enjoying it. Snake getting shots from attractive gene therapists was something else he found funny. Like I said, he has a weird sense of humor.

"Alrighty, Snake. Let's start the debriefing, shall we?"

Snake didn't want to hear the word "debriefing" ever again. Ever. "Yeah, let's get it over with."

Campbell drew himself up, slowly pacing back and forth like a lawyer dictating a letter to his secretary. Campbell kinda wishes he had a secretary. He needs someone to sort the spam out of his mail.

"Here's the deal, Snake. Five hours ago, an army of heavily-armed soldiers occupied Shadow Moses Island, a remote island off the coast of Alaska."

Snake snorted, skeptical. "Shadow Moses? Sounds like some kind of death metal band."

Campbell furrowed his brow. "Well, the original name was Cannibal Corpse, but it was changed. Then it was Iron Maiden Island. Eventually they just settled on Shadow Moses. Pretty bizarre actually. But I digress.

"The soldiers were Next-Generation Special Forces led by members of the unit FOXHOUND. They've given Washington a single demand. They say if their demand isn't met, they'll launch a nuclear weapon."

"A nuke? Where in God's name are you going to find a nuclear bomb in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness?"

Campbell smiled triumphantly. He looked like a pleased badger when he smiled triumphantly. A badger with testicular cancer.

"I thought you'd ask that! The base they took over is an old nuclear weapons storage facility. There are more nuclear weapons lying around than used condoms in Anna Nicole-Smith's apartment. NOT that I condone such things as prostitution."

An awkward silence filled the room. Snake coughed. Naomi stared fixedly at a speck of dust on her fingernail.

"Er, right," the Colonel said, slightly embarrassed. "Let me tell you about the hostages, then."

Campbell produced from his suit pocket three photographs.

"The first and perhaps most important hostage is Donald Anderson," the Colonel said, handing Snake a photograph. "He's the DARPA Chief, and is therefore a very important man."

Snake was staring at the photograph. "Uh, Colonel?" he said hesitantly. "Is the DARPA Chief Donald Anderson supposed to look like Revolver Ocelot in a Speedo? And why does it say 'From Ocelot, XOXOXO' in red pen?"

The Colonel turned beet red and snatched the photo back from Snake.

"Er, top-secret confidential reasons. You weren't supposed to see that. In fact, I'm not even supposed to have it. You know what, it's not even mine. Just never mention it to anyone, ever. For fuck's sake, let's just forget the photographs. They're shitty anyway."

Campbell tossed the photos away in a huff. Naomi, though she was used to swearing (The Sopranos was her favorite show), was surprised at the Colonel's outburst. He was usually a very controlled man. The only time she ever saw him lose his cool was when his Segway broke after he ran over an albino mouse that was crossing the street. He got pretty mad and even swore revenge on the dead mouse's family. "Cut you little fuckers up like Angus beef," he had screamed at the red and white lump of mouse innards. "Go back to Africa, you cocksuckers!"

Naomi sighed. That was a long time ago. Well, if you consider two days ago a long time.

"Colonel," Snake said, his gravelly voice making Campbell and Naomi's throats hurt just by hearing it, "let's get a move on. You said we're under a deadline."

Campbell swallowed some aspirin. "You're right, Snake, we are on a deadline. A deadline…to DEATH! Bwahahahahaaaaa."

The silence could have killed an ox.

The Colonel cleared his throat. "Ahem, well, yes. Where were we? Ah yes, the hostages. Well, as I already told you, Hostage number one is Donald Anderson. The next hostage is Kenneth Baker, president of ArmsTech. He's old and probably doesn't have any of his real teeth anymore."

Snake chewed a fingernail. "Pretty important hostages, I guess. But neither of them are hot and female. So what's my incentive?"

Campbell raised an eyebrow. "Did you not hear me? The terrorists have the ability to launch a nuke! These hostages know the launch codes! If they—"

Snake raised his hands. "Woah, woah, woah Colonel. I hear you. Nuclear warfare and such. Important stuff. It's just that none of these hostages resemble Marisa Tomei. And that's a problem for me."

The Colonel looked at Snake disbelievingly. Naomi rolled her eyes so hard she almost pulled a face muscle.

"Well, um…" Campbell scratched his head. "Oh yes, I have a niece that's also being held hostage there. She's not really a top priority but she _is_ pretty attractive, so—"

Snake pepped up a little.

"Pretty attractive, you say? Compare her to a celebrity for me."

The Colonel glanced around uneasily. This was kind of awkward.

"Er, well, Snake, she _is_ my niece, so, um…I don't really feel comfortable objectifying her like this, so, um…"

There was a pause. Naomi was trying hard not to snort disbelievingly. Snake was looking up at Campbell anxiously.

Campbell sighed. "Jessica Alba, I guess. Just a little bit."

If Snake was a dog, his tail would have been wagging furiously.

"Jessica Alba? Oh man Colonel, that's pretty awesome! If you don't mind me saying so."

Campbell sighed again. "Well, if it gets you excited for the mission, I suppose it's worth—"

"I am pretty excited now, Colonel! When can I leave?"

Both Naomi and Campbell looked up at Snake sharply in alarm. A couple minutes ago he was being a sarcastic prick. Now he seemed almost cheerful.

"Well, there are still things we have to go over, Snake. This is a briefing, you know."

Snake looked kind of disappointed. "Well, alright. I guess." He was kind of sinking back into pessimist mode again. "Let's get this over with," he sighed.

The Colonel glanced at his watch. Holy shit-on-a-stick! It was almost eight! They needed to get going. Campbell's coffee break was at 8:15. He was enormously cranky if he didn't get his coffee.

"Listen, Snake, we're short on time, so I'm going to give the situation to you in a nutshell."

Snake snorted. "Coffee break coming up?"

Campbell frowned. "Yes. Anyways, about the mission.

"Your job is going to consist of a few things: number one, rescue the aforementioned hostages. Number two, collect information about the shit going on inside the base, because we don't have the faintest clue. And number three: basically do anything we tell you to. I _am _in total control of this operation. So just in case you have to like…oh I don't know…disable some sort of Metal Gear or something along those lines, don't be surprised. Ahem."

Snake was barely listening. "How am I going to eat on this mission? I doubt I'm going to have time to hunt for walruses."

Naomi stepped in. "Well, Snake, remember that shot I gave you? The one you almost started bawling over? Well, that shot contained something I like to call nanomachines."

Snake looked up at Naomi slyly. "I thought _I _was supposed put tiny swimming things inside of _you_."

Naomi gritted her teeth so hard it hurt. God, sometimes she hated men.

"Charming. Now, as I was saying, these nanomachines will provide you with nutrition, adrenaline, focus, and sugar. They also contain an anti-freezing peptide that will prevent your bodily fluids from freezing in the Arctic conditions."

The Colonel cleared his throat. "Thanks for that, Naomi. But we really do need to get a move on."

Naomi shrugged submissively and sat down.

Campbell cleared his throat again. "Now, finally Snake, I think you should know who you're up against. FOXHOUND has changed since you last heard about it."

Snake laughed. "How much could it have changed? It's not like the members have names and abilities reminiscent of comic book characters. What, does one have 'psychic powers?'" He laughed again. "Oh boy, that's rich. I bet there's even one with superhuman strength that carries a massive automatic gun, right?" He was now chortling to the point of tears. He finally stopped, snorting. "Ohhh boy, am I funny. Psychic powers, that's a riot."

The Colonel coughed loudly and shuffled his feet. "Well, um…actually, Snake…"

Snake's face was stone. He stared at the Colonel. "Aw, _hell_ no."

"Hell _yes_, actually. Let me read off the names of the FOXHOUND members to you. No comments until the end, please.

"Revolver Ocelot is the interrogation specialist. He dresses like a cowboy and refuses to use any gun except a Colt Single Action Army. He has pinpoint accuracy and is a bit of a loony.

"Psycho Mantis has powerful psychic abilities. Kind of like Miss Cleo but on steroids. And he doesn't charge per minute, either.

"Sniper Wolf is the team's sharpshooter. She can stay focused on a target for weeks without moving. She also has a great rack and wears a shirt with this huge slit down the front. It's pretty hot.

"Vulcan Raven is a shaman. He's kind of like The Thing but more human. He carries this huge fucking gun around that he ripped off a helicopter I think. He's obsessed with ravens.

"Decoy Octopus is a plot device, fuck him.

"And finally, the leader: Liquid Snake."

Snake, half-asleep, jumped at the sound of his name.

"I'm here. I didn't do anything. …Wait, did you say Liquid Snake? Who's that?"

The Colonel handed a photo to him. "This is Liquid Snake. He has a nutty British accent."

Snake was looking at the photo with disgust. "Man, that is one ugly motherfucker! Look at that face, it's enough to make you puke! That nose is just so long and pointy, it's disgusting! He looks like he got hit with the entire Ugly Tree! Yikes!"

There was a grand pause. "Uh, Snake," Campbell said. "That's your twin."

Snake 's face was expressionless. "Oh." Another long pause. "Well, maybe he's not so bad-looking after all. Pretty hot, actually. Not that I'm saying he's hot. I'm not gay. At all." Pause number three. "You know what, forget about it. Let's move on, Colonel."

"Ok, Snake," he said, wanting to move away from the previous topic, "I think you understand the mission objectives, the situation, and how much this is riding on you. You ready to head out?"

Snake took a long look at the Sneaking Suit hanging on the wall next to him. It looked shiny, especially the ab part. The big collar on it was sexy. Damn, he could pick up a lot of chicks in that beast.

"Colonel, can I keep the suit when I'm done? Well you know, _if_ I get done. Cause I might die. But seriously, can I keep it?"

Colonel rubbed his temples. He needed his coffee.

"Yes, Snake. You can keep the suit. Just say you accept this mission. Quick."

Snake stood up. His ass was number than plastic. "I accept this mission! God my ass is numb."

Campbell looked relieved. "Alright, good. You'll head out in an hour. More mission details will be explained to you in that time period, things like the team and the Codec and other assorted shit. But I gotta go now. So, uh…bye."

He dashed out the door like a deer with its ass on fire.

Snake looked around the room. Only he and Naomi were left. Naomi was sitting down, reading "Getting Revenge for Dummies."

Snake smiled crookedly again. "So, Naomi," he said greasily, "it's just you and—"

Naomi interjected. "Shut the fuck up, Snake."

"Kay."

He sat down again and sighed. What was he going to do for another hour? Out of the corner of his eye he saw the photo of Liquid Snake. He's an ugly motherfucker even if he's my twin, Snake though. What's different about him than me?

Then it clicked. Snake noticed Liquid's long blonde hair. He reached up and felt his long brown hair. That shit's got to go, he thought.

He spied a scissors on the desk next to the bed and began to go to work.

Naomi heard the trimming noises and stopped reading. "Snake," she asked. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to be mistaken for the leader of the terrorists." Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Oh. Alright." She paused. "Don't cut yourself, then." She resumed reading.

As the dry clumps of dark hair fell around him, a single question entered Snake's mind.

_How the fuck am I doing this without a mirror?_


	2. The Ultimate Infiltration To End All

**Chapter 1: The Ultimate Infiltration To End All**

"_If you were going to shoot a mime, would you use a silencer?"_

- Steven Wright

They call Alaska "The Last Frontier." Many people think space is the last frontier, but that is wildly incorrect. It is in fact Alaska. Thanks to the media, Star Trek, and AIDS activists, space has taken Alaska's beloved nickname. This has been a hot topic for a many number of years in the Alaskan government, for Alaskan citizens feel slightly miffed that a thing as petty and empty as space could possibly deserve their beloved title. "There's like, nothing in it, for crying out loud," Alaskan State Representative Jim Maguyuksukasiku said in a recent press conference. "It's freaking space. There's no frontier, just SPACE. Am I only the only one who notices this? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"

The end result of the "State of Alaska vs. Space" trial was several brutal murders and a mind-blowing game of checkers. It was eventually settled out of court because Alaska decided they "don't think it's that great a name anyways. It's kind of depressing if you think about it."

  
Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I've completely derailed the introduction to this chapter with a bunch of vaguely applicable garbage. I only meant to say that first sentence there, but then it kind of got out of hand…I have that bad habit, you know, it comes from my grandmother. She couldn't order a steak sandwich at Arby's without telling the cashier half her life story. It drove people simply bonkers, including her family. Well, she's dead now. Got hit by a manure truck. Awful way to die, I think. Goddammit, there I go again. Well, anyway, I apologize. Let me start over.

They call Alaska "The Last Frontier." Why exactly it's called that is uncertain—it's a pretty lame nickname for a state—but what is for certain is that Alaska is really fucking cold. In fact, they probably should have just named it "The Really Motherfucking Cold State," because that's a more accurate description than "The Last Frontier." Equally fitting nicknames are "Cold As Hell, Don't Visit Here," "Your Balls Will Seriously Fall Off," and "Swimming In Our Water Will Sterilize You."

As Snake swam up to the Shadow Moses Island Nuclear Disposal Facility wearing nothing but a facemask, some scuba gear, and his Sneaking Suit, that last one rang particularly true.

"Mmfcrkrfflcker." A muffled cry emanated from Snake's scuba mask, sending bubbles floating up the water's surface ten feet above him. He couldn't feel most of his digits anymore. Ten minutes of swimming in subzero Arctic water had rendered them completely useless.

_Oh well_, Snake thought to himself as he propelled his freezing body to the surface. _It's not like I use fingers and toes for anything important, right? I mean, balancing? Who needs that? Sissies, that's who. And, fingers? Useless. Only thing I used those for was, um…cutting pie. Wait a minute, oh shit. I love pie._

Snake's thought process was cut short as his head silently broke the water's surface. The first thing he noticed was the volume of the cavern he was in—it was high-ceilinged and stone, which meant amplified noises. Immediately, Snake regretted eating those microwave bean burritos for pre-mission brunch.

Through his ochre-tinted goggles, Snake could see he was about 20 feet away from a reasonably-concealed concrete platform. His battle-hardened mind told him that dog-paddling over to that platform and climbing onto it was the best possible plan of action. Even though there was a much better hiding spot only half the distance away, Snake went with his instinct, which he knows is always the best choice. Well, not always. Candy Land and chess are not good places to trust your instincts, as Snake learned a long time ago during a rather embarrassing board game incident with the Colonel.

Snake was about to silently slip over to the platform when a loud clanking sound reverberated throughout the cavern. It seemed to be originating from the far end of the cavern, where Snake was headed. It went on and didn't stop for 20 seconds. When the noise died away, Snake took out his binoculars, curious to see what had caused the disturbance.

He peered through his binoculars. Through them he saw…a grinning Colonel Campbell giving him the finger? Confused, Snake turned the binoculars over to look at the opposite end. He sighed and removed a photo depicting what he had just seen through the lenses. The Colonel had apparently been screwing around with his digital camera and taken a snapshot of him flipping the bird. On the back side of the photograph he saw a scrawled message: "you suck snake lol. peace out."

With an exasperated sigh, Snake crumpled up the photograph and tossed it away. Once again, he raised the binoculars to his eyes. "What a douchebag," he growled.

At once he realized what had been causing the noise: a large cargo elevator on the other end of the cavern. It had been bearing a passenger down to the lower level…a passenger, Snake noticed with surprise, he had been briefed about just a few hours ago.

Liquid Snake. In all his black trenchcoat clad, shirtless glory.

"Stay alert," he said to the guards on duty, his evil British accent bouncing all around the cavern. "He'll be through here…I know it."

Snake inwardly rolled his eyes. What a smartass.

"I'm going to go swat down a couple of bothersome flies," Liquid proclaimed. He then turned around, took a flyswatter out of his trenchcoat, and swung it at a nearby wall. After a couple of good whacks, he turned back around.

"Now that that's done with," he said, putting the flyswatter back into his coat, "I have to go shoot down some F-16 fighter jets with the Hind. It'll be a _breeze_." He started laughing. "Get it, _breeze_? Because the Hind's a helicopter, and the rotors spin around really fast and make…" he stopped laughing, seeing that the two guards weren't really catching on to the joke. "Ehem, well. Keep a good lookout for that guy. Seriously, he'll fuck this place up."

The guards nodded automatically. One spoke. "Got it sir. Keep a lookout for the guy, fuck this place up."

Liquid shook his head. "No, no," he said. "Keep a _lookout_ for the guy, or _he _will fuck this place up."

The other guard nodded. "Got it. Keep a lookout for fucking, bring the guy into this place."

Liquid looked at both the guards quizzically. "No," he said, a twinge of exasperation in his voice. "Keep a _lookout_ for the _guy_, he will _fuck_ this _place_ up."

"Affirmative. Fuck the guy, keep a lookout for this place."

"No, no, it's—"

"Fuck the lookout, let the guy into this place."

"What? No, what I said was—"

"Keep a guy for fucking, lookout for this place."

"For God's sake, I said—"

"Fuck lookout place guy up fuckity fuck fuck fuck—"

"SHUT THE GODDAMN HELL UP!"

The guards stopped talking. A vein on Liquid's forehead was throbbing, and he was glaring daggers at the two men.

"Listen," he said, trying to keep his temper under control. "Just don't let anybody through. _Got it_?" He said the last part through gritted teeth, his face red.

The two guards quickly glanced at each other. "Sir, yes sir!" they barked, a hint of nervousness in their voices.

"Good," Liquid said. "Now…go back to your positions."

"Sir, yes sir!"

Liquid peered at them. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go!"

The guards nearly tripped on themselves scrabbling back to their posts.

Liquid turned and walked back to the elevator, rolling his eyes. "I swear to God, one of these days I am going to _drop-kick_ one of them. In the _face_."

As the cargo elevator made its noisy way back up, Snake lowered his binoculars. He silently shook his head in disbelief. These guys were stupider than the Colonel. This whole thing was going to be a piece of cake.

Snake resumed his plan and swam over the concrete platform. Without much effort, he silently pulled himself onto it. Making sure he was completely out of sight from the guards, he reached up to his ear and called Campbell on the Codec.

"This is Snake," he whispered. "Colonel, can you hear me."

He heard Campbell's damnable voice in his ear. "Loud and clear, Snake. The reception is great on this beast."

Snake sighed. "Listen, Colonel, it looks like the elevator in the back is the only way up."

"Just as I expected. You're going to have to take the elevator to get to the surface."

"No shit, Colonel. I kind of figured that out already. Is there anything I need to know, besides that?"

"You need to make sure nobody sees you. These guys will lay the smackdown on your ass harder than The Rock on steroids. If you need to contact me at any time, the Codec frequency is 140.85. Let me repeat that. 140.85. Did you get it? You should probably write it down or something. **140.85**. Seriously, get out a pen. This is serious stuff. ONE. FOUR. OH. POINT. EIGHT. FIVE."

Snake exploded. "COLONEL! Shut the fuck up! The Codec stores all the main frequencies, I don't need to write anything down! God, it's like talking to a five-year-old!"

The Colonel chuckled on the other end of the line. "Ok, ok, I get it. One more thing, Snake. You should also know how the Codec works. It's really fascinating actually. You see, it stimulates the small bones of your ear so that only you can hear it. Pretty wild, huh? It's like having a cell phone in your cranium. Pretty crazy."

Snake's voice was dripping with exasperation. "Is that all?"

"Hmm…oh yes. Like we said in the briefing, you need to arm yourself with some kind of weapon. We have learned that the terrorists regularly leave guns and ammo lying around their base for anyone to pick up and take. It's really odd, actually. Why leave stuff around that will aid your destruction? I mean, would Superman leave a chunk of Kryptonite lying on his front doorstep? You bet your ass he wouldn't. Which makes me wonder if—"

"_Colonel_."

"What?"

"We're on a deadline here."

"Oh, right, right. Nuclear warfare and such. Well, I guess if you _have to_, I can let you go. Remember, just dial the Codec if you need me."

"Yes, I understand."

"Alrighty. Bye."

The Codec clicked off. Snake breathed a sigh of relief.

"I swear to God, I'm surrounded by _idiots_."

With that, he climbed onto the main floor of the cavern and crouched behind a steel barrel. As he sat there with his back against the cold metal, he took a good long look at the entrance to this underground dock. It would be the last time he saw an exit to what would become a hellhole of death, pain, and madness. Within the next 24 hours, he would witness countless people die, some by his own hand. He would fight people to near death, be tortured, find out the truth about his past, fall in love, make a friend, and prevent a global nuclear war.

Boy, life sure is a bitch.

* * *

Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm leaving for vacation tonight and I really wanted to get a chapter in before then. I really hope you guys are enjoying this. If you are, please leave a review. I thrive on reviews like a mother-in-law thrives on misery. No offense to any of you actual mother-in-laws out there, even if you are a bitch. 

Peace out, I'll be back July 3rd. Remember, reviews make me a happy panda.


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